Thursday, March 5, 2015

Featuring IN THE WOODS by Nancy Gideon

It is my pleasure to present my bud Nancy Gideon and her novelization of the film IN THE WOODS. She's the only person I know (really know) who's listed in IMDB.

Here's what Nancy has to say about IN THE WOODS:

I wrote the
monster/knights-of-old/sorcery/serial killer/suspense novelization from
an original horror screenplay by writer/director Lynn Drzick. Having
just celebrated its 15-year anniversary as a little Indie film that
wouldn’t die, we’ve breathed new life back into the book, now available
on Kindle, to coincide with the Spring 2015 Blu-ray and Video-on-Demand
versions of the film, complete with voice over commentaries by director
Lynn Drzick, leading man DJ Perry and . . . me! Here’s a peek at IN THE
WOODS . . .

In the Woods

Based upon the original horror screenplay IN THE WOODS by Lynn Drzick, now an independent motion picture.

Hundreds of years ago their battle began . . .

In an age of knights and sorcery, a good king must raise a monster to
protect his people from the demon unleashed by a dark-hearted enemy
determined to claim his kingdom. But once called forth upon
blood-drenched fields, can such evil ever be truly laid to rest?

To a present day community held hostage by fear, a serial killer will
soon be the least of its worries after two off-duty firefighters enter a
forest and find a grave. What they dig up isn’t a victim or family pet.
When they race from the woods, they bring a timeless hell with them . .
.

The woods were thick and green, a lush paradise of almost primal
splendor. No marked pathways wound through the tangle of vine and
overgrown brush, only the natural trails followed by inhabitants of the
forest. Eden must have been such a place, untouched by civilization,
rich with verdant foliage and host to a cacophony of sounds, each
celebrating life renewed and reborn.

Only on this day, the chorus ringing out beneath the canopy of
spreading oaks wasn’t a symphony of life. It was a loud, discordant
dirge of death.

The resounding clash of steel on steel peeled through the woods,
harsh, out of place amid the peaceful setting, an ugly man-made tune
where only the delicate melodies of nature should have played.Branches
snapped, brush gave way in a noisy yielding to activity not at meant for
a quiet glade. Against the mellow pallet of greens and carpet of mossy
browns, glints of callous metal flashed when touched briefly by spears
of sunlight that penetrated the tunnel of interlaced limbs. And a scent,
both redolent of life and death, challenged the earthy cycle of
woodland decay as vivid red blasphemed the sacred forest floor.

Battle raged between armored knights, fighting man-to-man in the most
primitive of combat, for that was all the dense stand of trees would
allow. It was no organized attack, with orderly lines and mounted men.
The terrain over which they fought would not permit such luxury.
Instead, a brutal, chopping, hacking, within arm’s reach war raged with
barely room to accommodate the full swing of a sword, but plenty to
provide for the spilling of blood. Two sides engaged, one in the pure
gleam of silver, the other in the flat black of death’s very door. None
could say which side ruled the day, only that each foot of ground, given
or taken, was earned or lost with a tragic toll. Such was the way of
any war once reduced to its most basic component.

Man.

“It’s hard to see just how many there are, sire! They’re coming out of the forest like rodents!”

“Which is what they are!”

Prince Freeacas threw up the visor to his helm and glared through the
tight grouping of trees. He could see glimpses of warriors, both his
and the enemy’s, engaged in close quartered combat—a sword slashing
here, an ax falling there, everywhere the ringing of mortal blows upon
steel and bone. Pure madness, waging battle under such conditions, but
war was not a sane endeavor under the best of circumstances. Here, it
was necessity.

A sudden movement to his left distracted the young prince. He caught
the dull black sheen of his enemy’s armor, like darkness fast
approaching, as a knight charged from the cover of the trees bent on
slaying him to win the day. Before Freeacas could react in his own
defense, Galan, the silver knight who served as his protector and
friend, stepped in to deflect the blow with his own sword. A brief
contest of strength ensued as blades locked at the hilts, and
hate-filled eyes met with only inches between them. Then Galan threw
forward with all his weight behind it, upsetting the would-be assassin
who stumbled back, his balance precarious. Galan drove on, taking full
advantage of the weakness, forcing the man to his knees, then to his
back, ending it at last with a fateful thrust of his blade through a
vulnerable gap of the breastplate where it gave at the underarm.

Freeacas stood unmoved by the savagery. After years of trying to
conquer a foreign land with only his wits and the strength of his right
arm to keep him alive, nothing held the power to shock the young prince.
He understood battle, and he understood the fighting man’s mind.
Loyalty was best demanded when it was fairly earned. He was not one to
retake his lands by directing others from a safe distance. The staining
of souls lost to his massive blade darkened his mail and mood. These
were his properties, his inheritance, stolen by cunning thieves whilst
he was away in the Holy land fighting for their salvation. He could not
expect others to die at his command if he were not willing to do the
same at their side.

Of late, the countryside seemed bathed in blood. Men steeped in
violence with the scent of dying in their noses from long hard years at
the Crusades had no patience for peaceful solutions. They fought each
other as viciously as they had faced the Arab hordes, only this time,
the Promised Land they died for was their own home soil. A man was
capable of terrible things when he was defending what was his by birth
and royal decree. As this land was his, and would remain his while he
had yet breath in his body.

A cruel and clever adversary, Karth bid his time until his
neighboring king was left unprotected as his knights and only son sailed
for Jerusalem. Karth had expended none of his own in that noble cause
and hence ruled a mighty number. King Haggert lost more than he held to
the plundering black plague of knights, but now that Prince Freeacas was
home to lead his vassals in a reclaiming quest, the odds were more than
just even.

Or so they had been to this point.

Prince Freeacas frowned as he observed several of his knights running
afoot, not toward battle, but rather fleeing from it. A man of iron
fortitude, he hated cowardice almost as much as he loved his father, the
king. There was no room for the faint of heart and weak of nerve in the
heat of confrontation. Had he been able to recognize those yellow curs,
he would have made note to strike them of all their courtly privileges
and strip them of their feudal lands. Such behavior was not to be
tolerated by any man of honor who’d taken oaths of fealty that bound as
firmly as blood.

Furiously, he stalked in their direction, shouting, “Where are you
men running? Are you not warriors?” in hopes of shaming them into
standing their ground. But he saw one last flash of silver as they
disappeared into the trees. He still cursed them as another knight came
running from the foray, also abandoning his duty to his king.

It would not be borne!

Freeacas lunged forward, gripping the knight by the arm. The man
swung toward him, sword half raised in his own defense until he
recognized his liege. He went still, then slowly lifted his
visor.Freeacas was struck by the look of sheer terror upon his
features.More than just a healthy fear of consequence placed that
deathly pallor upon his face and left his stare blank as gazing
crystals.

“The battle’s not done ’til all are bleeding!” he called angrily,
wanting to shock the cur from his fright with the boldness of his words.
But no such concession could be won. Instead, a deeper panic rose, and
with it, incredible words came pouring forth.

“Sire, a beast came out of the sky and attacked us!” the knight all
but babbled. His gaze flew over the prince’s shoulder to anxiously scan
the woods beyond as if expecting some supernatural terror to charge out
in pursuit.

“Beast?” Freeacas jerked the man up close, fighting the want to shake
him. What nonsense stemmed from a fearful imagination. Beast, indeed.
Probably the man’s own conscience swooping down to chastise him for
failing upon the field of honor.

But the knight wasn’t daunted by the prince’s sneering doubt.He pointed, plates of armor rattling upon his quivering arm.

“Over the hill! Our men are being ripped apart!”

And speaking that much of the horror he’d seen, the knight broke free
of Freeacas’s hold and continued to run into the concealing depths of
the forest.

Spitting an oath to banish the ominous chill the man’s actions awoke
in him, Freeacas looked toward the far hill. It was framed like a
mounded grave against the glare of the now sinking sun. He squinted,
able to distinguish silver or black upon several shapes moving between
the spearlike jut of trees. With Galan at his side, he marched toward
the incline, determined to discover if the knight’s words be fancy or
more impossibly, fact. Passage wasn’t easy over the rutted ground, where
a carpet of leaves ofttimes hid a treacherous twist of roots. He
stumbled frequently but struggled on, sweating heavily now inside the
weight of his protective mail. He told himself the steamy forest heat
caused that steady stream, not anxiety over the knight’s fantastic
claims. Superstitious folly! What kind of beast came from the heavens to
send brave men-at-arms scurrying like threatened forest hares beneath
the talons of a hawk? God’s blood, he would soon find out!

Three of his men burst over the crest of the hill and came racing
downward with two black knights in hurried chase. His knights must have
seen him, for their wide, glazed eyes fixed with his for timeless
seconds as they approached then split to pass him on either side.They
never slowed, never looked back as they left their prince to fend off
their pursuers.

They didn’t stop. Nay, they didn’t even pause in their
self-preserving flight! Momentarily stunned, Freeacas exchanged a look
with Galen, who appeared equally outraged and just as confused by the
behavior of their seasoned warriors. These were not green lads plucked
from humble roots. They were the realm’s finest crop of defenders at
arms, no strangers to battle.

There was no time to think on it longer. Upon spotting them, the black helmed pursuers gave a shout of challenge.

Not one to be influenced by another man’s cowardice, Freeacas didn’t
wait for the black knights to engage him. He charged upward, straight at
them, drawing his sword as he let loose his own fierce battle cry. He
could hear the clanking thunder of Galan on his heels.

Just as he neared the top of the hill, a black knight stepped out
from behind the shield of an oak and swung his sword. Freeacas felt the
impact shiver through the very marrow of his bones, but he didn’t fall,
nor did his armor fail him. As he came about to face his foe, he had a
clear view of his knights as they bounded into the safety of the trees
beyond, less concerned about the life of their leader then they were
their own.

Fury braced Freeacas. Letting out a yell, he barreled into the
opposing knight. They both went over like felled timbers upon the uneven
terrain, skidding downward upon leaf-covered ground, wrestling for
purchase, until the prince managed to deliver a lethal blow to the head
of the other. He pushed free and stumbled to his feet, leaning
momentarily upon a nearby tree as breath forced against bruised and
complaining ribs. Galan had overpowered his first opponent and was
intent upon defeating the second. Freeacas’s help wasn’t needed there,
so as soon as his wind was recovered, the prince, again, forged his way
toward the hill’s pinnacle to see what lay beyond.

To discover what made his men abandon honor and all that was righteous.

Even for his youthful years, Freeacas had seen some horrific scenes
of battle. Carnage that would haunt his nights for an eternity.He’d
partaken in skirmishes so brutal and vile that he’d come to doubt his
own humanity. But never, never had he witnessed such a sight of
unbelievable slaughter as that which played out on the battle ground
below. In that moment, he understood the terror of those who’d fled
before him, for he felt it rise, cold as death to seize his heart in a
fist of constricting panic.

“Lord help us all.”

The words whispered in an unthinking prayer from a man too numbed to comprehend more complex thought.

What in the name of all that was holy?

Was he mad? Surely his eyes deceived him, for what they beheld was not of this earthly plane.

The rattle of armament and thud of hoofbeats bearing down up him tore
the prince from his daze. Instinct borne in the heat of many combats
served him, steeling his fractured wits with a survival-sharpened calm.
He swiveled to face the mounted knight surging up the hill, intent upon
impaling him on lowered lance.

With sword raised, Freeacas stood his ground until the last possible
moment. Then, just before the lance point found its mark, he dropped to
one knee, forcing the tip downward with a two-handed chop of his blade.
Sparks shot up from the connecting friction. A furrow ripped along the
ground, the way the charging knight had meant for it to tear through
Freeacas, until the lance buried deep. The sudden shock of stopped
motion hurtled the knight backwards from his saddle.

Freeacas was up before knight met earth with a stunning crash of
armor. A single blow was enough to nearly separate head from shoulders.

The prince wasted no time gloating over his victory. With one last
look into the valley below, he rushed to catch the reins of the dead
knight’s charger and struggled to mount unaided. To Galan, he cried,
“Signal the men to retreat. We cannot win this day. I’ve news I must
take back to the king. He would believe it from no other’s lips.”

And as Galan glanced down into that valley of death, his gaze blanked with dread and understanding.
For racing at the side of their enemy was an unearthly champion; the
beast of which the terrified knight had spoken. Words could not describe
the whole of it, the awful unnaturalness of it. A beast, true. A demon,
most likely.

As Freeacas sped toward his father’s council, the huge, wolf-like
creature, the length of a destrier, continued its attack. With its jaws
full of dagger-sharp teeth, it crunched through mail to bone below. With
tusks and a central horn, it gored its victims like a vengeful blade.
With taloned feet, it tore open armor as if shredding fragile parchment,
while delivering blows from its thick, serpentine tail with all the
brutal force of a Norseman’s smashing hammer.

A devil dog. A hound from hell.

The bane of their survival.

$5 Amazon Gift Card & Kindle Edition of In the Woods

With over 60 sales since her first publication in 1987, which was
written in long hand then typed up on a manual Smith Corolla, Portage,
Michigan author Nancy Gideon’s writing encompasses romance genres from
historicals and regencies to contemporary suspense and the paranormal.

Under her own name, she’s a bestseller in contemporary romantic
suspense, has written an award-winning vampire romance series, and has a
six book shape-shifter series with Pocket Books. Also listed on the
International Movie Database (IMDB), she collaborated on Indie horror
films In the Woodsand Savage with screenwriting and ADR script credits, and even played a small role, that of “bar extra.”

As Rosalyn West, she’s a HOLT Medallion winner with nominations for
“Best North American Historical Romance” and “Best Historical Book in a
Series.”

A prolific writer, Nancy attributes her creative output, which once
peaked at seven novels in one year, to her love of history and a gift
for storytelling. She also credits the discipline learned through a
background in journalism and OCD. The due date for her third book and
her second son were on the same day . . . and both were early! When on
deadline, she turns on the laptop between 4:30 and 5:00 a.m. to get a
chapter in before heading in to her full time job as a legal assistant.
She’s a member of GDRWA, MMRWA, FF&P and dotes on her critique group.

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction.
For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com